


Taste of gold

by Tiefschwarz



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Indirect Kiss, Innuendo, M/M, Medal kink, Otabek POV, Vignette, cheesy ending, messy afterwards, of sorts, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiefschwarz/pseuds/Tiefschwarz
Summary: The medal tastes of failure. A failure that is of his own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A quick something to let it out. Poor Otabek tho

This isn’t his medal. He shouldn’t have tasted it, not by any common sense, shouldn’t have consented to please Yura by agreeing to lick it. But could he really have denied him, his Yura, who has just won that gold, and then run to him – straight to him, making a mad dash through the crowd of coaches, sprinting as if his fate depended on it, as if Otabek was his lifeline – now he was clearly imagining things in his head, why would Yura even think this way?  
  
But the evidence was clear before him – Yura did run, almost crashing them both down, and smirk he did, that triumphant smirk of a winner who needed, craved to his very bones to _share_ that victory, as otherwise the whole ordeal was not worth it, not at all, not even the gold – calling its song of avarice and fierce pride  – was enticing as much as the fickle chance Yura has never known before – to share the joy of it in its fullest, and to be heard in return.  
  
As Otabek listened, and caught him in the mid-fall, and through his half-whispers, half-shrieks of everything and nothing in particular, he hold onto Yura as _his_ lifeline, and Yura hopefully never even felt it, exhilarated, exhausted, excited, head over heels and mind so high in the sky it shouldn’t have really mattered when he offered Otabek to taste the golden piece held so carelessly and mundanely in his hands.  
  
 - You should know how it tastes before you win one, shouldn’t ya? – Yura was smiling, that genuine blindingly innocent smile of his that would’ve turned fangirls into piles of liquid goo should they ever get to see it like they did… Right about the moment Otabek looked around them, the crowd not growing less at all, and if possible, pressing even harder.   
  
All of this suddenly felt way too intimate, too private and even obscene – to do this in the public, let them _see_ , see all of it happening – the joy and the friendship and who knows what else they might spot in the tight and no-nonsense matter Otabek hold Yura steady in his hands, as if he’d been keeping him safe and stable for years prior. Not that anyone should be allowed privy of the fact that in his mind, Otabek probably did. And not just once.  
  
So he ushered Yura further on, to escape the noise and the gazes – primarily the gazes – to somewhere quiet, somewhere where they can remain unseen and just to themselves like on that free day-off in Barcelona that started it all. Yura didn’t seem to really mind – not in his state of almost inebriated blissful exhaustion; and then again, he just wanted to share, to see the happiness in Otabek’s eyes reciprocated the way he did see it on their Barcelona weekend, too.  
***  
Once safely put away from prying eyes and gossiping mouths, Otabek has no other chance or reason to back away. Here’s the medal, he should just give it a formal lick, and they’re done, so done for today, for everything it entails, the madness and the noise in their ears, the deafening one – of the hearts thumping wildly, the quieter one – of breathing gone out of hand, the quietest of all – of the world around them. And Otabek yields, to Yura’s happiness, to Yura’s joy and unabashed longing, for him to see his friend celebrating his victory – with him. As the true warrior would expect his opponent to do. Even if said opponent haven’t made it to stand beside him on the podium.  
  
He shouldn’t have tasted it, oh truly he shouldn’t. For as much as his heart goes out for Yura, the gold tastes of failure.  A failure that is his own, a broken promise to his family, country, and the foulest of all – to himself. As he couldn’t make it, and seeing the beaming, blooming Yura before him, Otabek is well aware he will not make it in the future, too. Not with his friend being the way he is. Otabek would have loved for his opponent to be someone deserving of his hate, his scorn and thus spurring his own desire to persevere. A constant motivation built on anger and struggle, which has been there for Otabek ever since he can remember himself on ice.  
  
Not this, not the most innocent, most powerful champion, brightest and most skilled of them all, the one who went as far as to accept his friendship and offer his own in return – shocking to the both of them, incredible and oh so right in this place of all wrongs – Otabek cannot even as much as imagine how it is even possible to _dislike_ Yura, least of all hate him for his prowess. He sure isn’t capable of this.  
  
Nor is he capable of winning gold from now on, as its rightful owner is standing before him, staring at him somewhat weirdly, and definitely not happy about Otabek not being fully happy too. Because strange as it sounds, Yura manages to see him through all his stoic masks and nonchalant expressions, manages to see – and understand, relate and even admire Otabek through all of that. How he does that is beyond Otabek, how Yura seems to be reading him now without words, without saying as much as “What’s the matter?” – he just leans closer to Otabek, making him look down a little bit, and the next moment his lips are on the other side of the medal, and the glare so intense Otabek would have shuddered has there been any strength left in him for that kind of unnecessary expression.  
  
 - Don’t make the face like you don’t like the taste. Otabek is not sure whether Yura is teasing him or it’s his weird method of comforting his friend for what has gone unsaid between them. Judging by Yura’s determined smile though, it’s probably not the time for teasing.  
 - Next time I fully intend to taste yours.  
  
Oh no, Otabek was surely mistaken. It’s the teasing in its purest, it must be, it has to be, because Yura cannot be hinting just that, and Otabek can’t stop himself from intense all-out blushing and look anywhere but Yura’s piercing eyes. He’s too cunning for his own good, that winner of all the golds in the vicinity, as this time he seems to have recovered from the ceremony enough to grab Otabek by both hands and put on the most lewd and smug smirk even possible.  
  
 - The medal, Beka. Everything else doesn’t have to wait so much, does it?  
Of course it does, but of course it does! Or so Otabek tries to reason with himself, as the medal is now forgotten by both.  
 - You will win it. And what a good fight we’ll have for it, – Yura whispers in his ear afterwards. The deal is made, but Otabek feels like he might’ve won something so much better than a medal just now.


End file.
